The Art of Doing Nothing
by ECKon04
Summary: My parents risked their lives so that I - their spawn, Rory Longbottom - could have a peaceful, lazy, eventless life, and for the love of Merlin, I'm going to take advantage of that.   A story of how helping yourself is helping someone else.  ScorpiusxOC
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** So I've been conjuring up this caracter for a while now. She is the Longbottom spawn! Don't worry, there aren't very many other OC's.

HOW TO READ THIS STORY:  
>You will be challenged on what it is to be a character. You might see some of these people in people that you know personally, which is kind the goal. Except for Rory. Rory will be quite weird at times. One thing I try to portray is authenticity. If you see any fakeness in my writing please tell me immediately. You will encounter one mary sue along the way, and you are allowed to hate her with all of your heart.<p>

Disclaimer: I do not own the Potterverse, it belongs to JKROWLING.

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><p><span>Chapter 1: Rory's Cornbread<span>

"I tell you, we are here on Earth to fart around, and don't let anybody tell you different."  
>Kurt Vonnegut<p>

* * *

><p>Looking back on Hogwarts, I figure all I really did concerning the future was think about 'how cool it would be if I was a this or a that.' When the time came to try to do these things nothing happened.<p>

Of course, there's nothing wrong with working at the cauldron, somebody has to, and it's good that it's me. What would this place be without me?

I'll tell you.

It would be utterly different. Complete madness, in an entirely different way. I don't know exactly how, I'm no seer.

The Leaky Cauldron without my ear – my good ear – would be a very unforeseeable place. Who knows what it would be like. It could have actually been better, I don't know.

If me and my ear wasn't here, there would be no one to have the answer to the question that was at hand.

"Do you have any cornbread?" The asker was the guy who I call 'usually asks for cornbread guy.' It is impossible to identify him until he asks for cornbread, or whatever he wants that day, because his appearance is so generic old-guy, that he is virtually unrecognizable. Once he speaks, though. You know it is 'usually asks for cornbread guy.'

If he ever did anything other than demand my answers, maybe we would be on real-name-basis, but not all of my costumers are personable.

He knows me by my cornbread, and sometimes other food items, I knew him by his peculiar voice, and that is our understanding.

"No, do you want some?" I asked. "Oh god, you're going to say yes, aren't you?" I said, and his facial expression never changed. "I really hate when you make me make cornbread when we don't have any." I shook my head a little bit to try to subliminally convince him, but goddamn his mind was made up already. "You want the cornbread."

He nodded.

"One cornbread coming up."

After a while I felt guilty that I tried to make him feel bad about it, so when I summoned all of the ingredients, I smiled, and made them all dance around me in a festive manner as I told them what to do. I tried to make it seem like had only been teasing him, and was cool about making the cornbread all along

I ended up having a pretty good time after all, to be honest.

While it was cooking, I made a drink for 'brings his own tankard-guy', who I now know enough to call him by his real name, Mitch. Mitch is one of the only people who comes nearly every night. We have an understanding no one will ever get. Not even me.

When I sat the finished product out before him, I gave him a very severe look. "Now you're going to ask for chili."

"No, thank you."

He picked the squares off the plate, held them close to him as he ruffled through his pockets, tossed me the cornbread amount of sickles and left. I stood there leaning on the counter with one hand, and the other holding a rag on my hip, in that ironic diner woman way. I noticed a bloke I used to see a lot at Hogwarts sitting at the counter a few seats away.

"That bastard never lets me watch him eat the bloody cornbread."

He smiled, probably because he thought it was polite to do so.

"Do you want something to eat?" I asked him, still in my diner woman stance, except my hand moved from my hip, to my lower back, because I was starting to feel tired. I wondered if this is what I would start doing if I was pregnant.

"Could I just have a cuppa?" he asked. I hadn't seen this guy in three years, because he was a grade over me. Scorpious Malfoy, the one Ryan Wood always hung about with. They played quidditch.

"Yeah, if you want one." I got up to fix him some tea. "Do you want to pick out your mug?" I showcased the mug hooks, to try to temp him into playing along. This is one of my games. If the person chooses specifically, I can pretend to make educated assumptions on their character, or personality, or cause for woeful mood based on chosen mug. I like to think a lot of people who sit at the counter alone are in woeful moods.

He seemed to look torn. I felt bad about wanting to judge him.

"I'll choose for you," I said, and he smiled in relief. I unhooked the calico patterned mug with the enchanted painted ducks walking around the bottom.

I thought about how weird it was seeing him, like it is when I see anyone from school. I tend to see a lot of old Hogwarts people around the Cauldron. Some come to see me, but most just pass through from London.

Scorpious probably knows my name, like I know his, especially since my dad is the herbology professor. Hogwarts is small enough that everyone pretty much knows each other's names if you're within three years.

All of our parents either know or hate each other, because of the events of a few decades ago. Some people let those prejudices transfer to them, but for the most part, people my age just don't really care.

I've only ever spoken to Scorpious one time, so it's like we hadn't earned the right to say each other's names out loud. It's weird how social queues work.

I placed the tea in front of him and sat down on my stool behind the counter, facing a different direction.

"Why did you pick this one, then?" he asked, pouring in cream and mixing it up, without making a single clinking sound. I thought about how well-bred that made him look.

"It's my favorite one." He appeared surprised.

"Thank you."

I realized how silly it was that my head was facing him, but my body was turned to the side, so I picked up the stool, and repositioned myself in front of him at the counter.

"What would you say if I picked you my least favorite one?"

"I would ask you what I did to make you hate me."

"Good answer," I replied with a yawn.

I wanted so badly to ask him why he was here alone, but that would have made me feel nosy. I may be a curious person, but I'm not nosey. One of the things I hate most is gossip.

I looked up at the clock. I had six more hours before the night shift was over, and I could go to bed. It was quiet: Only one room upstairs was occupied, and there were only two other people in the whole dining room, and they had almost finished up their dinner, so I got up to go check on the soup my mom made for the night's particular.

"Mmmm, minestrone." I hummed, my voice echoing in the cauldron. I pointed my wand up to the blackboard and enchanted the chalk to right the out the specials. I noticed Scorpious watching me.

"Rory," said Mitch, in his usual way. He had me refill his tankard with more liquor. After a while, I got sick of hearing the clock tick, so I sat down in front of Scorpious again with a cup of soup.

I couldn't resist anymore.

"It's weird that you ordered tea."

"Why?" He looked at me as if I was a lunatic.

"Watch out, she's going to try and analyze you now," mumbled Mitch from his corner. I pretended to ignore him. Scorpious glanced back and forth between the two of us.

"Are you?" he asked.

"Yes, probably."

"She's suffering to know what you're doing here," said Mitch.

"That's enough from you, old man," I cried.

Scorpious looked at me in a caustic sort of way for a while before he said anything. Meanwhile, I slurped my soup.

"Let's hear it then," he said leaning back. "What do you think I'm doing here?"

I picked my head up and glanced at Mitch who was holding The Prophet, but not reading it, and then back at Scorpious.

"Well you're here alone, late on a Wednesday night, without some sort of apparent agenda. You could have gotten into a fight with the person you live with, and needed to get away. Usually when that is the case, though, the person orders a firewhiskey, and dips his head to look mopey. But you got tea instead...are you a reformed alcoholic?"

"No."

We exchanged awkward airs for a few moments.

"Well I never get it right. I don't ever get it right, do I, Mitch?"

"Not usually," he replied.

At that point I felt slightly embarrassed, so I moved my bench over to where I had been polishing silver. Scorpious probably thought I was nosey and annoying. I hate giving off the impression of nosiness. That's the worst.

The clock was ticking, ticking, ticking. Endlessly.

"No, I'm just bored, I guess."

I looked up to find Scorpious gazing into my favorite mug longingly.

"Why don't you go to sleep?" I asked.

"Eh," he replied blandly. He's an insomniac, I said to myself. He looked sort of forlorn, and I wanted to make him feel better. I wondered how I could do it. If I was bored, and had nothing to do, I would want to someone to tell me to do something productive.

"You could help me polish these."

He looked up at me curiously, considering my suggestion slowly. And then, quietly, he moved over, picked up a rag, and started polishing.

I didn't ask him any more questions the rest of the night. He asked me one, though. He asked what the words written on my hand meant. It was a vague list of things I needed to get in town, I told him that I wasn't going to write them on paper, because I would absolutely not remember it. So, as I usually do, I enchanted them onto my hand. I don't know what the charm is for taking the words off, but when I want something new on my hand, it takes off the old letters.

So there's always something written on my hand.

He gave me another one of his tired looks when I was done rambling.

After we finished shining the pile of silverware, he got up and thanked me for giving him something to do.

I saw him outside the Diagon Alley window. He lit a cigarette, smoked two drags and then disapparated into the night.

()()()

My mum, my dad and I were all invited to the Weasley's the next afternoon for dinner. After we ate, Rose, Albus and I brought a cooler of beers and a blanket out onto the flat part of her roof. Just like we used to. Louis apparated to us after a little time; he had always been a part of our group too.

"So the girl was really into me, and it was obvious she was muggle, mind you, but she was gorgeous. I had never seen so much hair."

Albus has always had this way of talking. He could make anything seem like it was crazy, or awesome, or outrageous. He was a loud talker. Rose, Louis and I all listened quietly.

"Her hair had a feather in it, which I thought was a nice touch, you know. Really fucking pretty. Anyway-" Albus talks in big amounts. "She throws this curveball. She starts talking about her cell phone, and those things fucking confuse me. I don't know what the hell they do, so I have to make this face, like, I knew what she was talking about. And then she asked me if she could have my number. And I remember you saying that all muggles have numbers, Rose, so I start tattling off some bloody number. I said something like five thousand, whatever..."

Rose cackled loudly. "Nooo, Albus, not like that."

"Yeah, I got that thanks. She looked at me like I had insulted her, and walked off really fast."

"Muggles know when you're taking a piss at them, Al," said Louis, trying not to laugh.

"Yeah stop picking on innocent muggles," I said.

"Fuck you all," Albus replied before taking a swig of his beer.

For a while, all was quiet. The stars were out, so we watched them. There was some sort of content sad feeling between us, because we knew we could never make like it used to be. We were all so close, and now, it's slightly awkward.

We've grown apart, but the reason we don't break ties is because we know too much about each other to do so.

At least that's what I reckon.

"I can't believe Hugo graduates next month."

We all chewed on the realization silently.

"I hate it," said Louis. "The magic world was always wonderful all the way through Hogwarts..." He sighed long and hard. "...Now it's just bleak, everyday life." Louis was always the emotional one of the four of us. He always had something cold and forlorn to say. Lily will be graduating next year, and then all of us will be boring adults.

Whenever Louis got like this in the old days, we would all yell at him for being such a Debbie – that was his nickname – and say something uplifting to lighten the mood.

But none of us said anything, because it was true.

It scared me, because I wish there was room for adventure. Hogwarts was always endless wonder and amazement. And as soon as we learned everything, there was nothing else to astonish us. It made me want to cry.

Bonnie Finnegan works as a researcher on the silk road, and Fred Weasley has been apprenticing with his uncle Charlie, with the dragons in Albania.

I had said goodbye to Lorcan a couple weeks ago, because he is working with Native American burial grounds in the States. I'm going to miss him.

These are the things wizards and witches should be doing.

Especially Albus and Rose, who are the spawns of the saviors of our world, how awful it must feel for them to not live up to expectations of greatness. Nowadays they are exceptionally normal.

And me too, because my father is something great, being a true Gryffindor, and highly respected and all that.

I don't mind being average, really. Because even though my job can be a drag sometimes, and I don't have a spot of real purpose in my life, I'm happy to be alive.

"I saw Scorpious Malfoy last night at the Cauldron," I said conversationally. I wanted to get rid of the depressing mood between us.

No one cared really, but they played along.

"What has he been doing?" asked Rose.

"I don't know," I replied. "We didn't talk as if we knew each other."

"I always thought he was a prat," said Al. He stood up his empty bottle a few feet away, and transfigured it into a little seashell. It caught the light of the light of the moon, and shone pearly white.

"You only say that because of all the times he beat you out of the snitch," said Louis, looking steadily at the shell.

Albus sighed. A long, surrendering sigh. "I never should have been the seeker. Scorpious was the _real_ natural, and I..."

No one said anything for a while. The whole quidditch thing was a sore subject with Albus, Louis was the only one with enough apathy to bring it up.

When he finally continued, it was so long after, that it didn't seem to be okay to say anymore. But he said it anyway, because that was Albus. He would say what needed to be said.

"...and I was only a Potter."

"And Potters play quidditch," Rose finished for him.

()()()

I went to my parents' later to have a bit of tea with them, before going home for the night. Sometimes I miss them, because even though I see my mum enough at work, and my dad on the weekends, I hardly get to talk to them when we're all together. We get on pretty well.

At this point, my dad was questioning me thoroughly. He's a bit of a worrier. Treats me like a baby still.

"Are you able to get in your rent on time, Rory?"

"Yeah, for the most part."

"You'd tell us if you were short, wouldn't you? How are you able to buy food and feed yourself?"

"I don't buy food."

The two of them gasped in horror, my mum going so far as to touch her poor old heart.

"You've got to eat!" she cried. "Just come live with me again, love, I can feed you."

"You do feed me mum, all I do at work is eat."

I could tell she was relieved to hear this, but she put on her boss-mom facade. "I don't pay you to eat, dearest." My dad ignored her comment.

"You can't live off of bar food, its unhealthy," he said, concern ridden in his eyes.

"She cooks while she's there Neville."

"Yeah, last week I made myself a sandwich and wrapped it up for lunch the next day."

This didn't make him feel better. "What about breakfast?"

I scoffed. "Why eat breakfast when I can lie in my bed all morning and make like I'm sleeping."

My dad knew I was joking, but my mum looked as if I was raving.

She was the kind of woman who was never without something to do, whereas I'm the opposite. That's why I stopped working the counter during the day, because I don't ever want to anything. The night shift is perfect, because I can idle, and pick at food, and make stupid conversation with the evening regulars and night travelers.

"If you keep acting like an invalid, you'll become one," she said.

"Is that really all you do? What is your daily timetable?" My dad asked curiously.

"Well usually I wake up around two," I stop to listen to my mom choke on her biscuit. "And then I get up and have a cup of tea and read. Then I take a shower, dry my hair, decide on an outfit, and walk to work the long way."

My dad laughs, and my mum, with a dry sense of disbelief, shakes her head depressingly at me.

Until a couple weeks ago, I would usually wake up at noon, do all of things quicker, and then go see Lorcan.

Things have gotten amazingly even less exciting since he left.

"On a less pathetic note," my mum teased. "I've hired a new girl for weekend afternoons."

"Seriously?"I said in my most dreadful tone. I hate new girls.

"And you have to train her."

"For the love of Merlin, _seriously?" _

"Your shift will start later and end later..." I sat and looked at the wall behind my mum while she explained everything to me. "Oh come on," she started up again. "Don't be a baby. I need you to help me with early breakfast. You know how hard it is to find people who know how to bake these days."

"How hard is it?" my dad asked, always the inquisitive one. I get my annoying question asking skills from him.

"It's bloody difficult," she replied.'

I huffed. "When does she start?"

"In two weeks. It'll be slow enough at night for you to show her everything. She's a nice girl, you'll like her."

After complaining a bit more, I hugged my parents goodbye and went home. Bertha always works my two days off of a week.

I flopped down on my unmade bed, kicked off my shoes, and fell asleep.

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><p><strong>AN:** Please tell me what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Rory's Lamb Stew

"I want to stand as close to the edge as I can without going over.  
>Out on the edge you see all the kinds of things you can't see from the center."<br>-Kurt Vonnegut

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><p>One thing that kind of bugs me, is when someone you were close with for a long time goes away, doesn't make any effort at all to contact you, and then when they come home, you get a big cheerful hug as if everything is okay. As if never for one second did you stop being friends.<p>

Well as far as I'm concerned, after two months of not speaking to someone, you stop being friends. James left and didn't so much as owl me for three years. I take that as 'I don't have time to know you anymore.

"Four years changes a person," I told a heartbroken James. He was looking at me as if I had no more love in my heart.

As I was putting my apron on at the beginning of my shift, James came running in, and tackled me from behind. He kissed me on the cheek, and I pushed him away screaming for help. I thought he was a random lunatic from the street.

He didn't look like the same person as when he left. I was standing there looking at my old James, and he had hair all over his face. He had grown a beard, and so I had no choice at first, but to think he was a crazy stranger. But that's what he is now anyways. James is a stranger to me. I don't know what he does, or who he talks to, or what went through his head about that beard. I probably don't even know what his favorite color was anymore. He changed, and he never stopped to tell me how and in which ways.

"C'mon Rory, you were always my darling little girl. I'm crazy about you," he said as I fixed us both some tea. "I'm sorry, could I have a coffee?"

I peered at him testily as I put the kettle down, and went over to the coffee maker. See? A stranger.

"Who _are _you?" I mumbled. He was making me feel uncomfortable

"I'm not the only one who changed, you know."

He waited until I was done getting our beverages for me to say anything.

"I haven't changed."

"Yes you have!" he cried.

"How could I have changed, nothing in my life is different than before."

"Well look at you, you're not little anymore, are you?" I looked down at myself and shrugged. "You're gorgeous!"

"Thank you," I said dryly.

"And you used to be so much more quiet. You always used to be the one who never, ever spoke her mind."

I sighed. "What are you doing home?"

Right after James graduated, he moved to South Africa with a girlfriend. She broke up with him a few months later and came back, but he stayed there because he fell in love with his job at the Magical Creature Refuge. It was then that he grew a beard, probably...

He looked around the room as he said, "I figured it was time to come home and see everyone."

"When are you going back?"

He looked into my face and smiled. "When I feel like I've accomplished something here."

When he had said that, a shiver went up my spine, because for a small moment, the characteristic twinkle in James's eye shone through like wild fire. I could even see the crookedness of his smile through all of that hair. Also it just seemed like such a James-ish thing to say. He was always so mysteriously charming.

James took a few more sips of his coffee and then got up and left so that he could go, as he said, 'reacquaint himself with England.'

When I was little I admired James very much. Albus was closer in age, and I even had a small crush on the younger brother for a while, but to me James was different. He was a bit too old for me to ever really fancy him, but I always knew that potentially, I could one day fall in love with him. Deep down in my heart, and also in my mother's heart I think, I always thought I'd end up with one of the Potter boys.

James stopped being a part of my life, and Albus had grown to be too much like a brother.

But then there was Lorcan too.

I got my first owl from Lorcan that morning right after I woke up. Reading at first, I was really excited and happy to hear from him. I had hugged the letter for five minutes before opening it.

He wrote briefly about some of the people he met so far, and how the weather is hot and dry in western America. He said in three different parts of the letter that he wished I was there with him. It's silly though, because I hate hot weather, and I have no interest in haunted Indian graveyards.

After reading it, I cried for a bit, but that's only because I kind of miss him.

If I ever wanted to look at him, though, I would only have to walk to the Daily Prophet headquarters and talk to his twin. They look exactly alike.

()()()

Scorpius came again that night. He slipped in while I was busy making dinner out back for a group of old witches. I used magic to cook a pizza right over the fire.

I smiled at Scorpius as I walked past him into the dining room with the pizza.

"Pizza is gross," I said when I got back to behind the counter.

"What?" was all he could say about it.

"I don't like pizza," I repeated, carving a line into the counter with a fork.

"I don't know what to say," he replied dryly. After a long few moments of unsure silence, he settled on: "are you mad?"

"I don't know, maybe everyone else is mad for liking pizza, and I'm the only sane one." He shook his head in disbelief. "Oh shit, I've upset you." I sighed and got up to fix us both some tea. "I have to teach myself to stop talking about my ardent dislike of pizza. I think I have offended too many people."

"Do you have a good reason?"

"By my standards, yes, I do."

I put his mug down in front of him, and sat down. The light above us flickered, causing the color in his eyes to change as his gaze changed from the tea to my face.

"Okay, I'm ready for it."

"Well first of all, I'm lactose intolerant." I shifted in my seat. "I can eat dairy, but I would need to take a potion afterwards to stop my stomach from aching. Lorcan would always take the cheese off for me, and I ate it that way." My heart skipped a little upon mentioning Lorcan. It felt so personal that it made me feel uncomfortable, but I kept going. "He used to tell me that I was just jealous that everyone could enjoy pizza, and I had to wash it down with a gross potion."

Scorpius bowed his head slightly and squinted his eyes at me.

"Lorcan Scamandar?" he asked. I nodded, just wanting to get on with my story. "He was your boyfriend wasn't he? An excellent beater, that one."

I felt embarrassed at the comment. Lorcan and I weren't really together until the end of seventh year. It also struck me that Scorpius would notice such a thing. I'm not surprised at the bit about quidditch, but I never suspected my doings to be noticed by people like Scorpius.

"Erm – yeah, anyways. I am a picky eater, and red-sauce, although I used to eat it without a problem, I just don't like anymore. Tomatoes in general, actually. I ate pizza every now and then until one day I heaved up some of it after lunch, and now the thought of it nauseates me."

He nodded his head as I waited for a reply. He never said anything, so I gulped the rest of my tea and brought it over to the bar sink. I stayed there to organize the bottles of liquor.

It was a long time before he said anything.

"Well it looks like you make pretty good pizza, anyways."

"Thank you," I said over my shoulder. I really like it when people compliment my cooking. It's not one of my most favorite things to do, but I get stupid pleasure from watching people enjoy the food I make.

When one of the old women came to pay me later on, I counted the baubles coming off of her shawl. There were seven of them, and that bothered more than it should have. I noticed that Scorpius wasn't there anymore, and it bothered me that he didn't say goodbye.

So when I found the note my mum left for me asking me to sweep the floor, I was all sorts of peeved.

About ten minutes after I started, I heard the bell on the door ring, and Scorpius came through. He went back to his place at the bar counter and opened up the prophet.

I walked over to him. "Why don't you ever have anything to do?" I asked. It was the first time I wasn't on the other side of a table from him. He had stubble on his face, and he smelled of cigarettes.

I wanted to take back what I said. If someone said that to me, I wouldn't know what to say in reply. Whatever he's avoiding by coming here instead is not my business.

"I'm not one to talk." I laughed nervously. "The only things I do are sleep, read, and sit around here at night." No comment again.

Well at least I dodged the first awkward bullet.

()()()

I didn't go to sleep for quite a while after I got home from work. Right away I stripped down to my underwear, like I always do – it's my favorite part about having my own flat, otherwise I would probably still live with my parents.

For a while I browsed my old standard book of spells textbook, and memorized a jinx called '_lens lentil' _that curses someone with freckles.

If Lorcan were there with me I would definitely curse him with freckles. I imagined our laughter together.

After that I turned on the radio to irrelevant news from the wizarding world. I spent most of my time lying on my bed, looking at the ceiling and not listening.

It's only been two weeks since Lorcan left, I think about him often. Usually I would be with him, as if we were charmed together, so it makes sense that I don't really know how to substitute his absence with productivity.

At one point I sat in front of the mirror and practiced braiding my hair a new way. I fell asleep on my desk with all of the lights on.

()()()

I'm not an anti-social person; I'm just not the type of person who 'goes out' to see friends for some reason. That's why I like Candace Smart, the girl who works at the WitchWear in Diagon Alley. When she started coming in everyday for dinner, we quickly became friends. I like her. She's fresh-faced and sweet. A bit naïve at times, but we get along.

I've never seen her outside of the cauldron, but when I see her, we talk like old friends. I quite like the way that works.

Everyone else I consider close friends are like kin anyways. I grew up with the Potters and Weasleys, and even the Scamandar boys, although their parents traveled a lot. If I didn't grow up with my parents dragging me to every extended family dinner, then Albus, Rose, Louis and I probably wouldn't have made it as friends. Nowadays, we know too much to abandon each other.

I stick with them because they are the closest things to siblings that I have.

()()()

A few days later at work, I was up on the counter trying to get a hanging basket down when I heard the bell ring as someone came in. It was about eleven o'clock.

"I'd get up there and fetch it for ya, if I didn't have such a terrible heart, honey," said Herb, the sweetest regular I have. He was sitting next to Mitch, who huffed at Herb's offer of wonderful kindness.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Scorpius sit down on a stool, watching me carefully the whole time.

"Hullo," I said to him skeptically.

"Evening," he replied.

"Why don't you get up there and help her, boy," said Herb.

"I'm just a bit too short," I said sheepishly, but Scorpius was already climbing up when I had said it. Standing next to him, he was about a whole head taller than me. Easily, he plucked the basket from its hook, and placed it into my hands. He was already off the counter before I could thank him.

But then he offered up his hand to me to help me down.

It was nice of him, I guess.

I walked around and grabbed a cloth for the basket, and watched as he took off his jacket and then sit on it. "Are you hungry?" I was going to ask him if he was bored, but I remembered from the other night that by saying that, I would be mocking him. "A couple in one of the rooms upstairs is having me make a lamb stew, and it's almost done."

"Umm..." he scratched the back of his neck. Obviously struggling with something more than just the acceptance my offer.

"Don't decide until you see it," I said, placing the rolls carefully in the basket.

I looked up to chance his expression. He was already looking at me. At that point I didn't know what to do, so I held his gaze. He was unafraid to look back at me, so I got a good long glimpse of his eyes.

First thing I noticed was the cloudy grey color, but that was forgotten when I was hit with the eerie numbness stamped into his stare.

Completely jaded.

Too hard to look at.

I spun around suddenly and went into the kitchen. The stew was done, so I levitated it out onto the cooler near Scorpius.

"Would'ya look at that," breathed Herb. I spotted Mitch smelling the air. I looked over to Scorpius, jutting my hip and leaning one hand against the counter like I was priding myself for overcoming a great hardship.

"There's enough for everyone," I said, and Mitch in the corner laughed.

I prepared two plates for the couple upstairs, being careful to make it look neat. I poured two glasses of milk and set it all on a platter and levitated it upstairs.

When I got back downstairs, Scorpius had moved over to sit next to the two old men who were showing him their hands. Upon getting closer I realized they were telling which scars they got where and when. Herb had spent many of his years with muggles in war-zones, so he has plenty of skin-stories.

I filled four bowl of the soup and brought over the basket of rolls. Scorpius immediately seized up uncomfortably.

"Erm, Rory –" It was the first time I ever heard him say my name. "I don't have my wallet with me, you don't have to feed me."

This was Scorpius Malfoy. Probably the richest person I knew. Or sort of knew anyways. The fact that he didn't have his wallet was weird, but even stranger was the fact that he came to a restaurant without any money.

It never occurred to me that he might actually not have anything else to do. It was so obvious that I felt silly, and then also a bit embarrassed for him.

Of course I wasn't going to have him pay if he couldn't, but I felt awkward just giving it to him. I wanted to be as warm as Rose. She would have just flicked her hand as if pushing away the matter, and laughed. She would have told him how ridiculous it was that he thought he had to pay for the stew.

"Those people upstairs are paying enough for all five of us," I said, pushing the bowl towards him.

By the expression on his face, I could tell he didn't want to take the handout.

"Just pay me back next time," I said, and he nodded.

"Yeah," he said with a smile.

I got up and filled myself a pint of beer.

"Indulging tonight, are we Rory?" hollered Mitch. I'm not allowed to drink on the job, but who's to know anyways.

"I can't have stew without some beer. Are you sure you're not an alcoholic, Scorpius?" His name felt weird in my mouth.

"Last time I checked, no." He said, picking up his head from his devouring of the food. I took that as a direct answer. I filled a second glass.

I ended having a really nice time, just sitting and talking, drinking. After the second round, Scorpius opened up to me somewhat, and after Mitch and Herb called it a night, it was just me and Scorpius, bantering.

He made fun of me for the words 'don't forget pie' written on my hand, and I laughed at the special way he pronounced the word bagel.

We discussed the new novel in the Cornucopia Donaldson Mystery series, and how many times the main character throws his new love/hate interest up against the wall and snogs the living daylights out of her.

And then he asked me if I could give him some advice.

He brought our vague acquaintanceship to a weird semi-personal level again. Just like the time he commented about Lorcan. It brought the established 'I know who you are, but let's pretend that we don't just because' thing to the surface. We had even surpassed the name-barrier. It was still weird.

"I guess I'll try," I said.

"I work with my two friends, Ryan and Florence, and we are always in close quarters."

Ryan and Florence, I knew – and everyone else, it being so apparent – had been together since fifth year.

"They're getting married and leaving to go live in Bath later this summer." He looked me straight in the eye. "The only thing I like about my job, other than the pay, is being able to see my friends every day."

There was a long pause as he scrutinized me, trying to get me see the dire nature of his dilemma.

"Should I quit?"

I went over to the tap and filled my glass again, thinking about my answer the while.

"Are they going to be replaced?" I asked.

"Yes, probably," he replied.

"Than what I think you should do is make friends with the new people."

"What?" The response I gave him seemed to confuse.

"The longer you keep a job, the better, and since the pay is good, you shouldn't quit. But at the same time you want to enjoy your time there, so you have no choice to become friends with your new coworkers."

He was quiet for a long time, but then finally, he looked up at me and inclined his head.

"Okay," he said, and then as an afterthought: "You make it seem so obvious."

"It's pretty obvious to me."

Later, on his way out the door for the night, Scorpius turned around for a last word. "I might have to ask advice from you more often, you know."

I nodded, and he left.

Within the first few hours of getting home the next morning, my flat was screaming angrily about how empty it was.

The problem was becoming more and more apparent these days.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **

What is Scorpius avoiding? Do you like James? I do, he's fun to write. We'll all meet the new girl next chappy, and Candace Smart will make an appearance.

Please tell me what you think!


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